


Old Hunger

by kabrox18, weaverofyourdreams



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Cannibalism, Gen, It's Nasty AF, Robogore, inter-character relationship studies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 19:10:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kabrox18/pseuds/kabrox18, https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaverofyourdreams/pseuds/weaverofyourdreams
Summary: Airachnid's mistakes cascade, reviving an old line of code from the Pits.





	Old Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> tags have relevant warnings. tread carefully, all (o-o)b   
Evening Star is Weaver's!
> 
> (Co-written in discord with them. Lemme know if there's dumb, glaring mistakes XP)

It was  _ supposed _ to be easy. Dreadwing had vowed that things would go smoothly. And yet, Breakdown’s signal fritzed in a panic. This did not look very smooth to Megatron. His lip curled slightly, baring the slimmest glimmer of teeth.

All of a sudden, Breakdown’s signal seemed to wink out.

“Breakdown?” Evening Star asks. Nothing. Not even the static of a muted comm. She squeezed her hands into tight, steadying fists against the console, sucking in a sudden breath that was much too large to be normal. She let it out unevenly, tremors running through her rotors at the realization. She turns, green eyes  _ huge _ and welling already with tears. Megatron looked down at her, his own eyes wide, dumbfounded.

And then, like fire to a log cabin, rage overtook  _ everything. _ He closed his eyes, trying very hard to not ruin the console his talons rested on. He breathed deeply, just as he’s been told a hundred times, counting up and then back and up again. None of it worked. He opened his eyes again, glaring at the blank spot where the truck’s icon had just been.

“I will be right back,” he says, as evenly as he can get it past his clenched teeth, then stalks out.

He wastes no time going to the flight deck, just leaps out an opening in the side, flipping into alt and putting on the highest burn he can tolerate in Earth’s choking atmosphere.

He gets there in _ minutes. _

Airachnid is taunting Dreadwing, who’s bound up in a copse of trees. That is, until Megatron practically lands on top of her.

_ “You,”  _ he snarls, laden with contempt. She looks shocked for all of a second before trying to instinctively scrabble away. First mistake; she should’ve burrowed, gotten away from the mass of his chassis and impressive reach.

Instead, he grabs her, hand wrapping easily around her torso. He slams her into the ground, knocking the breath from her. She swipes with her claws, earning her a dangerous laugh. Oh, he can feel her vents flutter in near panic against his fingers... so he squeezes slowly, mangling the soft metal and warping it until she’s left silently gasping for cool air she can no longer draw in.

He leans closer, grinning too wide as he reaches to one of her slender legs, crushing the first joint. She screams, vocoder fuzzing with the heat she can’t expel. He slides his hand further, ripping the limb off in a screech of metal and cabling. Then the next. And the next, and the next, all the while that gleeful, sadistic grin never  _ once  _ leaving his faceplates.

  
\--/--

Dreadwing looks deeply disturbed. Shaken down to his spark.

“M-master?” He croaks.

“You are free to go,” Megatron replies, voice flat. Dreadwing takes off and never once looks back. He’ll have that image of his leader hunched over the mauled, dismembered corpse of Airachnid burned into his mind for the rest of his function anyway.

  
\--/--

“I know what you’ve done, Megatron.” Optimus’s voice over the coms make her jump. Why was he comming to the Nemesis bridge? Megatron at her side shifted to his full height, having adapted a relaxed slouch. 

“To what are you referring, Optimus?” Megatron spoke slowly, evenly, as though he was forcing himself to appear calm. Evening Star angled her gaze towards him, knitting her brows, her mouth upturning in confusion. 

“You...” Optimus paused. That was unusual, he was always so sure with his words, “ _ ...cannibalized _ Airachnid.” 

Evening Star gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth. Her data pad clattered loudly on the floor in the otherwise silent bridge. Her tanks churned as she stared up at Megatron. She’d heard... rumors about how Megatron had set himself apart from the other gladiators, but she’d believed impossible. There shouldn’t have been—cannibalism shouldn’t be  _ possible _ among their kind. 

Megatron gave a harsh laugh.

“ _ Optimus,  _ you have no proof of such an allegation. Even if it were true, why confront me? If anything I did your team a  _ favor! _ ” 

Evening Star had stood by Megatron’s side for thousands of years. She knew when he was worried. He wasn’t worried, he was frantic. The slight shake of his chassis and the well-hidden tremor of his voice was evidence enough.

“Your followers need to know what kind of monster they’re allowing to lead them.” Optimus wasn’t worried about the rest of the Decepticons. He was worried about her. He was telling Evening Star just what kind of _monster_ she was playing companion to.

Megatron’s claws dug into the console as he leaned forward with a snarl, cutting the link. She took a step or two away from her ward. He turned, sensing her retreat, and snatched her arm in his grip before she managed to slip away from him. 

_ “My Star,” _ his voice sent chills down her back rod. His eyes blazed violet as he stared down at her. “Surely you don’t believe Optimus. He will use  _ any  _ means he can to destroy my cause.” He yanked her closer. Evening Star tugged on her arm, trying to keep as much space between her face and  _ those teeth _ as possible. “He knows instilling fear into my closest companion will weaken me; are you going to give Optimus what he wants?” Megatron hissed, hot air hitting her face. She winced, trying to swallow her whimpers. If she spoke, her voice would betray her. 

Soundwave’s arm appeared between them, an annoyed whuff leaving the spy. As though this was a mere  _ inconvenience _ to Soundwave, Megatron released her and Evening Star stumbled clumsily to the ground.

“Soundwave,” Megatron hissed. A ground bridge opened nearby. Soundwave looked at her and then jerked his chin towards it. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring Megatron’s bellow of rage. 

On the other side of the bridge she exhaled slowly, trying to keep more tears from falling. Evening Star fell to her knees, hugging herself. She had to get a grip on herself. Yes this was a  _ horrifying, disgusting _ revelation, but Evening Star could not allow herself to fall apart because of it. Her race needed her to hold it together. 

She scowled, growling, pulling out the datapad that Optimus had given her. It was on the Autobot network. She typed out a message directly to him.

The leader of the Autobots appeared through a ground bridge, and it took every ounce of her self control not to deck him on sight.

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU  _ THINKING?” _ She screamed at him, clearing the distance between herself and Optimus with a jump and a whirl of her propellers. He leaned back, blinking at her in surprise. 

“I’m  _ trying _ to protect you,” he told her with an uncharacteristic scowl. 

“I DON’T NEED PROTECTION!” She shrieked, giving Optimus a shove. He stumbled back a good few steps. “Megatron is the  _ last _ person I need protection from, Optimus! He trusts me! He would  _ never _ hurt me!  _ You  _ trying to protect me is only going to ruin my chances at getting him to end the war peacefully! Have you  _ forgotten _ why I’ve remained at his side for so long?!” She spoke dangerously, closing what little space there was between them. Optimus stared at her for a few moments, his eyes stern but patient.  _ “Well?”  _

“No, Evening Star, I haven’t.” 

_ “Then act like it.” _

\--/--  
  


Old hunger gripped him the second he tasted the sweetness of spilt energon. He needed more, more,  _ more. _ War rations had never really bothered him but feeling the warmth of lifeblood on his tongue drove him into a frenzy. His claws automatically found nonvital cabling and ripped it out, shoving it into his mouth as quickly as he could manage. It all was so real, so sweet; he couldn't help but dive in, closing his jaws around more softness and tearing it open. But the screams changed. He looked up, confusion slowing the haste of his hunger. It wasn't Airachnid.  _ It wasn't Airachnid. _ He stares in disbelief, confusion and sickness overriding the starvation protocol.

"Evening Star?" he gasped, as her claws jumped to grip the wound. Her eyes squeezed shut while she gurgled thickly around the spilt energon no doubt jumping up her throat. He suddenly found himself forced forward again, too desperate to stop.

He sat bolt upright, armor rattling around him as he gasped, overheat warnings blooming on his HUD. It had all been so  _ vivid. _ He checks himself, wiping his mouth; the only energon there was his own. The source of the taste in his dream. He must've bitten himself at some point in the night.

He slides off the side of the berth, deciding this needed to be handled. Now.  
  


\--/--

“Knockout.” The doctor looks up from his kit, surprised at the weakness in the rumble. Megatron stood by the repair bay door, absent of that straight-backed pride he was known for. 

“...Yes, milord?”

“Increase my rations. One and a half.” Knockout blinks, turning to fully face his leader—what did he need that for? They had plenty; it was just  _ highly  _ unusual for there to be any change in Megatron’s diet. 

“Sir, you’ve been on the exact same regime for—“

“I know.” Shame was not something he was used to seeing Megatron express. 

“Your chassis will—“ He tried to warn. 

“ _ I know.” _ He doesn’t really meet the medic’s eyes.

“As your medical professional, I cannot do that. I must act in your best interests.” It sounds recited.

“Knockout,” he murmurs, in the same sort of warning tone he uses before backhanding Starscream across the deck. Knockout insists to himself that he didn’t just clamp his armor close fearfully.

“Sir...” he protests weakly.

“It’s temporary,” he finally concedes. “Just until this... feeling passes.”

“Feeling?” Knockout pressed. He knew full well about Megatron’s history of... unusual feeding. “If you’re experiencing anything—”

“Come to you. And here I am, being needled.” He looked exasperated for a moment.

“I mean, come to me and  _ explain. _ You can’t just, demand a change in ration without explanation.” Knockout pressed.

“I’m hungry,” he says, flatly. If it wasn’t for the downward quirk of his lips, Knockout may have laughed. It sounded so petulant.

“I see. Have a seat and keep talking, then.”

\--/--  
  


She avoided the bridge, almost as though she knew his dreams. He would  _ never. _ Megatron would sooner rip out his own spark than lay a harmful hand on Evening Star. There was not a force of nature, on _ this _ planet or  _ any other _ capable of making him harm her. But still, the sickeningly pleasing sound of her shrieks played through his head time and again.  _ Why her? _

His teeth itched. He needed to sink them into  _ something. _ Rather abruptly, Evening Star appeared at his side. She’d finally garnered the bravery to join him again. He ignored the images of tearing into a lovely purple chassis flashing through his mind. Megatron stiffed a growl, knowing it may frighten her. 

“Would you like to talk about it, my lord?” She asked softly, her gaze rising to meet his eyes. 

“No, I would not.” 

Telling her about literally fantasizing rending her to bits would not be conducive to her or him. She was already unsettled as it was. He could not afford to lose such a faith as hers. Without Evening Star at his side, Megatron fears the final victory over the Aubots would feel…  _ empty _ . 

  
\--/--

It had no name, hadn’t even come fully online. He’d waited so patiently and now there it was, the malformed clone Shockwave had sent to him; all the while he complained about subpar conditions and unfavorable genetics. Megatron didn’t care. He’d never been smart in that way. But there was healthy metal, healthy cabling, and he could feel the growing need churning in his tank.

Dismissing the scientist, he found himself alone. Doors were locked. He already didn’t like being disturbed, but now he wanted solitude. He flicked a ping to Soundwave to request such, and was pleased when the affirmation reply arrived. He lay the poor, half-ruined clone out, carefully. One thing he would  _ not _ do is disrespect them.

He murmured blessings to their still spark, uttering a prayer that they may find peace in death. Then it gets to be too much—he can smell the still-fresh energon resting in the useless corpse, and it takes his entire will not to shred it open the way he would’ve in the pits.

Not that that lasts long; he finds himself with his fist deep in it, energon smeared halfway up his arms as he frantically rips more cabling out with his teeth, gorging himself on it all. Some tiny, distant part of him was crying to Primus in apology, but the rest was numb to hunger.

He lay partway over it, licking halfheartedly at some of the remains to chase the lingering taste of energon. His torso felt  _ packed _ tight with material, and still he felt that damn hunger. His chassis shuddered, suddenly gasping in air to cool the rapidly heating systems; cannibalizing another bot took a lot of effort and his body was already in overdrive from stress. He feels ill for a moment when he shifts; ate too fast. His thoughts come back slowly, and he gives an unhappy keen. Why had he done this? Why was this old coding affecting him now? Why couldn’t he resist the urge for one  _ Primus-damned cycle? _ Why couldn’t he find the words to explain it to Evening Star, the sole kindness in his life?

  
\--/--

He found her out on the landing strip with the predacon. It didn’t surprise him Evening Star had taken to the beast. She had an affinity for such things. She was sunning herself; she enjoyed the sun’s rays, even if it posed a danger to her systems. Something  _ else _ that didn’t surprise him. Some part of her was drawn to such dangerous things. 

As he approached, the beast raised its head. It huffed at the air, locking its eyes on Megatron and gave a low warning yowl. It must know. A beast recognizing a fellow beast. Evening Star opened her eyes, fixing the predacon with a stern look. 

“Preda! You’re going to get in trouble!” She scolded. Megatron wondered if he had done  _ too _ thorough a job shielding her from the horrors of the war he had ignited. Naming a mindless monster, worrying over its behavior as though  _ worrying _ would do any good. 

“My Star...” he spoke somberly; he had to at least  _ try. _ She stiffened, turning her attention to him. The predacon gave a low rumble, nosing her at her stomach with obvious uncertainty. 

“Hello, Lord Megatron.” She said simply, as though his deepest sins did not concern her.

He reached forward to cradle her face but stopped. He had just been elbow deep in a freshly dead clone. He had washed, repeatedly, but still he felt disgusted. He could not touch her. He recoiled slightly, looking away as he searched for words.

“Miners have a set of code, survival code, in the event of mine collapse-“ he started. It was hard. Words usually came so  _ easily _ to him. It was always to rally or manipulate. Rarely ever to be honest with someone. Her gaze was soft; she was listening, eagerly awaiting explanation for her ward’s unpredictable behavior. “It’s a lowly and bestial thing. I may have risen above my purpose as a miner but there are, unfortunately, remnants. I  _ did _ use it in my favor during my days as a gladiator.” Evening Star tilted her head. It was his initial attack of Airachnid that rekindled his bloodthirst... which was caused by Evening Star’s mourning. She would blame herself. Was he able to tell her the truth while sparing her?

He hesitates, mind whirling. He was a genius, prodigal strength and vast experience and all that. Why couldn't he explain this  _ one _ stupid string of code to someone he trusted? The predacon seems to find his pause boring and yawns, settling his huge head down again and closing those eerie yellow eyes.

"Airachnid," he suddenly blurts out. "If she had just  _ left _ Breakdown alive--"

"Megatron," Evening Star says softly, cutting him off just as effectively as a shout. "You attacked her because you saw I was upset."

"That isn't-" he tries, feeling himself get defensive. Why?

"It is. I'm not an idiot. It's okay," she reassures, standing. She takes one of his huge hands in both of her own, rubbing the scuffed knuckle armor. "It means you care about me."

"I don't want you to blame yourself for this," he confesses, falling into the old routine. She knew just how to peel back all the centuries of walling himself off.

"I'll admit; I do a little. If only because it indirectly made you upset." He looks away at that, avoiding that gentle green gaze. "But you had the strength to come and talk to me. That's a good thing."

"Airachnid was never... loyal," he grumbles, tone going a tad derisive. "It was an inevitability."

"Eating her, or just her dying?"

"Her demise," he says, maybe a little too quickly. She just nods.

"I've heard some of the reports from Soundwave. Seen her in action, too. I guess you're right--doesn't really make me feel any better about your... instincts, though."

"It will pass," he reassures a little forcefully. "I will get it under control, or I will have Knockout remove it."

"Absolutely not," she snaps, pointing up at him. He blinks in surprise at her sudden force. "You know our rule."

"...No alterations unless we've exhausted everything else," he recites, rolling his eyes.

"Exactly. Stick with it." She moves her hand, patting the jaw of his helmet and smiling.  
  



End file.
